The Spiral Staircase
by GoDdEsS oF dEaTh
Summary: Kaoru analyzes her relationship with her possessive lover Kenshin and decides to hurt him in the only way she can think of. An examination of her motives and the power of twisted love. Oneshot. Dark. Sad. KK.


This is a simple one-shot. There are mild references to sex, and a little bit of cursing. Besides that, it's just a simple emotional piece. I hope you enjoy it and maybe even empathize with Kaoru and Kenshin. I wrote this in one sitting, inspired by a song I heard.

Disclaimer: I do not own RK or any of its characters.

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_The Spiral Staircase_

She stood at the bottom of the staircase. The ivory steps curved in a tight circle that spiraled for what seemed to be miles above her head. It was time to begin the climb.

The only sound was that of her black heels clicking on the veined marble. Her hand slid silently over the gleaming railing; her eyes were always focused upward, wondering if he was at the top, knowing he was waiting for her.

Her black clothes were wrinkled from the night before. She was like an inky crow amidst a sea of doves; a dark spot in his otherwise perfect world. She was tainted, screwed up, and self-destructive.

He'd told her she belonged to him.

Was that why she had done it? she wondered to herself. Even now she felt the scratch of another man's beard rubbing against her neck, and the feel of his clumsy hands groping her body. She felt dirty, and she was content. She was done pretending to be the innocent maiden he had to rescue to his ivory castle. The role of the deceitful whore suited her much better.

But beneath the brands of another man's touch, she still felt her lover's caresses as if a wraith were running his hands over her right now. His tendency to stroke her face with the back of his hand, slowly, reverently, from her forehead to her chin. The way he would lazily run his fingers over every part of her body, only to seconds later grip her arms painfully and claim her as his possession. As his treasure.

She closed her eyes and felt her lids trembling. How had this happened? When had she lost control? She was always the one deciding how the game was played. _No one_ owned her.

Then he had come along, with his hurricane eyes and unyielding touch. Before she'd been able to consider the consequences, before she could even catch her breath, she'd found herself beneath him, surrendering completely. And since then, she had lived here, with him, powerless and hopeless. He claimed he owned her. She resented his ownership, even as she was helpless to stop it. No one crossed him; in his world, what he said became law.

Hatred bubbled up inside of her, but it fizzled just as quickly. She loved him; oh, God, she wanted to belong to him forever. But she couldn't. She would not. She would go to him, show him the marks of another man taking her. And she would whisper in his ear, while his eyes burned amber, that she had let that stranger enter her, pleasure her, and claim her. His object would be his no more.

When she looked up, she could see a glimpse of the red door at the top. She was getting close.

What would he do to her? she pondered dispassionately. Beat her? Kill her? It didn't matter. She'd gained her independence back. She'd proven she had a will of her own. He couldn't treat her like a slave meant to live only for him. She did what she wanted, screw the consequences. No, she decided suddenly, _fuck_ the consequences. Fuck this whole mess.

A sudden wetness slid down her cheek. Stunned, she touched her cheek, then tasted the salty liquid on her finger. She was crying. Wide-eyed, terrified, and desolate, she wondered how she had come to this. Crying on an ivory staircase that led to the place that was at once her miserable heaven and her exquisite hell. Her heart leapt at the thought of seeing him; she squashed it down. She insisted to herself that she didn't have a heart to suppress. She was soulless.

She was shattering apart completely.

Just a few more stairs...a few more staccato steps to take her to him.

The stairs uncurled and died at the scarlet door. She stared at it, and then raised a pale hand to grip the shiny knob. The brass reflected her fingers and made them stretch into nothingness.

Just as she was about to turn the knob, the door was pulled open. He stood there, his hair down around his shoulders, his eyes drinking her in.

She knew what he saw. Her hair was a messy tangle of ink down her back; her clothes were wrinkled and crooked; her lipstick, which she had made a halfhearted effort to wipe away, was smeared. And her mascara ran in lines down her face, not just from crying a few moments ago, but from the tears that had come in torrents as she had allowed a stranger to use her body, trying to convince herself that this was the perfect revenge.

"You were out all night," he said evenly.

She didn't reply, didn't move. She just looked at him. Her soul, which she tried to hard to ignore, was crying in her eyes, begging for his love and forgiveness.

For a few moments he just stared at her, hungry and angry and devastated. He wanted to kick her out, she knew. He wanted to scream at her and slam the door in her face.

He didn't. He held out his hand. "Come inside." His voice was barely audible.

She didn't deserve to come inside. She would continue to hurt him until he left her. It was the only way she could continue to survive, to keep herself from splintering down the middle. Her soul was a barren plane she was lost in. She was drowning in the emptiness. She would drag him down with her.

But he had offered his hand and his amber eyes promised a few hours of respite from her demons. For a few hours, he would own her, and she wouldn't have to be herself. She would cease to exist as an independent person, and simply be his. He would be her escape.

She took his hand. He used the back of his other hand to caress her face. It was an achingly slow touch, sliding down her forehead, smearing the mascara on her cheeks, and slipping off of her chin. Her eyes slid closed in surrender.

"Come inside," he said again, stronger this time. Preparing to claim her, pretending that the marks of another man weren't all over her. Wishing they had a chance for happiness.

"Yes," she whispered, and the red door closed behind them. The spiral staircase, once perfectly pristine, had been marred by the mud on the bottom of her shoes. Spiraling into eternity, it was cold. Silent. Beautiful. Empty.

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...owari... 


End file.
